


Fuck Phones

by kangamangus



Category: Death Note
Genre: Fights, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-13
Updated: 2012-05-13
Packaged: 2017-11-05 06:24:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/403363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kangamangus/pseuds/kangamangus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A one-shot in which Matt and Mello have a rocky reunion.</p><p>And this is why Matt hates phones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fuck Phones

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for foul language and fighting.

Matt is not a genius.

Yes, he has talent. Hacking, electronics, hell, he can beat most video games with relative ease. He can make things happen, if he wants, and that's why Wammy's took him in after everything in his life imploded and fell in on him.

But he is not a genius.

He said this to Roger once, when the old man was telling him that he had placed third, congratulations, he might have a future, and would he please pay attention for just a moment?

Matt had shrugged, carelessly, without glancing up from his gameboy, and simply said, "I'm not a genius."

Roger did not like the response but what _did_ Roger like about Matt after all? Nothing, Matt was pretty certain at the time, because Matt did not try hard like he should have, Matt did not want to be L, and Matt certainly did not want to wind up stuck in the Wammy chain of trying-to-be-L, only to fail and flounder. He knew what that had done before, to A, and he could see the way it drove Mello up the wall, to be so close and yet so far.

No, Matt did not want to be a genius, and still does not want to be a genius, so after Mello goes off on his own, Matt leaves Wammy's behind him for good.

His apartment is shit, but it's his. Matt takes on a stupid contract job where he screws with coding in a mind-numbing manner, but it's _his_. To further disassociate himself from Wammy's, Matt smokes and drinks. Geniuses do not want to lose their lungs and liver to cancer and disease, but Matt is not a genius, so it is okay. He uses "fuck" to color his vocabulary, because geniuses use a vast array of words, and Matt only wants a couple. He spends what money he makes on video games and cigarettes and sometimes even that girl down the hall, if he wants some for an evening. His apartment is falling apart, but it's everything Matt wants, and he tells that to himself every night.

If his brain cells die, it's okay, because he doesn't use them anyway.

When his phone rings one night after Matt has only barely fallen asleep, he answers it and it's _Mello_ on the other end, fucking breathing and speaking and saying he needs a place to say. Matt tells him to fuck off, but Matt doesn't hang up the phone. Matt listens and hears pain and confusion and that he is the last resort and he gives Mello his address like a moron.

Geniuses do not tell their asshole, worthless friends that they can stay for a while between gritted teeth and annoyance and unearthed emotions. It's, okay, though. Matt isn't a genius.

* * *

"This is where you live?" Mello asks. He's frowning at the tattered couch. Matt wonders if it hurts his face to do that. 

"Fuck you," Matt mutters, throwing a stack of dirty sheets and blankets on the couch. They haven't been washed in fuck knows when, but he doesn't care, because _he_ isn't sleeping on the couch. Mello can take it or leave it.

"Got any aspirin?" Mello asks as he sits on the couch, next to the pile. He glances down at it, and then looks up as Matt grumbles his way into the bathroom, taking care not to look at Mello's face. "These smell," he says with disgust.

It's about all Matt can take. He grabs the aspirin bottle from his barren cabinet, stalks out of the bathroom, and throws it at Mello's head, burns be damned. "Go sleep in the fucking streets, then," he says, yanking his cigarettes from the stained coffee table and barging his way to his bedroom, slamming his door behind him. He sits on the bed and tries to light a cigarette, but the cigarette won't light, because his hands are _shaking_. He throws the lighter across the room. It hits the wall, and Matt takes grim satisfaction in the fact that geniuses don't deal with their emotions by throwing things.

* * *

Mello sleeps most of the day. Matt doesn't touch him, but with the way he tosses and mumbles through his dreams, Mello must have a fever. The burns are red and angry and Matt knows nothing about giving medical attention, so he goes down the hall and fucks whatsherface until she passes out and he can sleep without having to hear Mello whimpering. Before leaving in the morning, he nicks the painkillers out of her cabinet, only to slip two wordlessly to Mello, before shutting himself in his room again to smoke.

"That's disgusting!" Mello yells to him when the smoke seeps under the door and fills the air around him.

"Your face is disgusting," Matt replies because it's true, though he doesn't yell this time. He plays video games to pass the time and his phone keeps ringing because his project is late, but Matt doesn't answer.

* * *

"If you don't answer that thing, I am going to throw it out of the fucking window," Mello tells him from the other side of the bedroom door. His phone has been ringing non-stop. Matt doesn't even look at it.

"Go back to your couch," Matt mumbles, mashing buttons less out of trying to beat his game and more out of wanting to punch Mello in his stupidly scarring face.

The door knob turns and then Mello is in the bedroom. Fuck, Matt meant to fix that lock. When he glances up from his game, Matt gets a really good look at his face for the first time. He stares. Mello wastes no time in grabbing the phone off the bed, opening the window, and tossing it down to the ground below.

"What the fuck, Mello!" Matt yells, standing up, game forgotten and tossed aside. This time, he does punch Mello, but Mello punches back, and they scuffle and make each other bleed and bruise until finally Matt puts a hand against Mello's burn and _rubs_. It's a dirty move and Mello screams in pain. Matt is torn between marveling at the fact that flesh can be so hot and listening to the sounds that come from Mello's throat. Mello curls into a ball. Matt, sitting, rests his head against the bed. His hands are shaking, again. Why do they always _do_ that?

"That was low," Mello finally chokes out.

"And you're not?" Matt replies, though there's no bite in his tone. He's exhausted.

Moments pass and Matt pulls a cigarette out, lighting it and smoking. Mello finally pulls himself up into a sitting position beside Matt.

"I hate the smell of smoke," he says hoarsely, laying his head on Matt's shoulder. Mello's body is still quivering. Matt can feel it.

"I hate you," Matt replies, but he doesn't push Mello away.

The window is still open and Matt thinks he can hear a faint, garbled ring, a reminder of everything he tries so hard to forget.


End file.
